


Elf-Beast

by SionnaDehr



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, High Fantasy, Mild Sexual Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 19:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14003091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SionnaDehr/pseuds/SionnaDehr
Summary: Every year the City of Lochard must host the Ceremony of Maidens to choose the next young woman to go with Lord Glorendil of Earithgil to his home and try to break the curse of the land's prince who has lived there for the past 200 years. In the year 1144 FA Bellethiel, an elf maid who has recently reached her year of majority, purposefully enters the Ceremony of Maidens as its first elven representative since the Prince was cursed 200 years earlier. As the daughter of the elven enchatress who cursed him, Belle must hope to stay alive long enough to help figure out how to break the enchantment and keep the kingdom of Calamerdon from falling to ruin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> This beauty right here started out as some humble LOTR fanfiction and turned into this wonderful story. I apologize if the summary is crappy. I've been trying to construct a good summary for this story ever since I finished the first draft. Enjoy all the same!

**Prologue**

**Enchantress of Great Beauty**

_December 25th, 945 fa (first age, time of prophets, the era of magic)_

_We couldn't believe our eyes. The lady of Rin-Tullen stepped passed my guards as if their magic meant little. The Prince hadn't ingratiated himself to her and spoke words that gave absolute confirmation to his part in the sad affair of Lady Lissiel. There was little I could do as she uttered the words of power and condemned him to his nightly transformations. I confess that I did not feel so inclined to help him to this day even if it had been in my power._

_\- from the personal writings of Glorendil, Lord of Earithgil, the eastern lands of Calamerdon, vassal to King Eldabard._

The first thing the household learned was that there was no love in the prince’s heart. One could say he had a sense of duty felt after a fashion if a person was generous, but that generosity didn’t extend beyond it. He had no love for anything beyond his own passions nor did he ever act out of kindness and compassion for anyone or any thing. While he managed to show respect for a select few he did not care to go a step beyond.  
In short, Glorendil, the Caelvur of Earithgil - the western province of Calamerdon - found living in the same castle as his prince quite frustrating. In the first week of his arrival the ancient elf lord wanted to give the son of his liege the benefit of the doubt. Surely his upbringing had not been as bad as he was led to believe.  
Oh how wrong he was!  
The prince was cold, unfeeling, and treated Glorendil’s servants as if they were slaves and not employees. The steward, Nathindor, threatened to resign if his highness remained another month. Galreniel, the matron of the castle, took him aside for a private word about “unwelcome advances” the prince made to the youngest servant, Siladrien.  
Then there was the current matter the caelvon was currently trying to convince Prince Rowan about that had the two at odds. In this moment Glorendil gazed forlornly into his beloved gardens. A certain amount of care had gone into their preservation in the wake of his wife’s death seventy years prior. It’s atmosphere remained locked in a steady spring and summer by ingenious enchantment constructed by his lost beloved. Preserving it was tricky and one that he prized himself in modifying for his magic type. A heavy mist covered the landscape in this hour telling him of the weather conditions outside the walls of his marble abode.  
Behind him the prince sat at Lord Glorendil’s desk reviewing the harvest accounts, tithe shorts and surpluses (in which the latter were few), and the reports of the lord’s Forest Guard. He knew none of them would be favorable and would hopefully convince the prince of his plight in the place of the increasingly inadequate father. Dinner was served upon Prince Rowan’s request and the elf had just consumed his first bite.  
“What sort of venison is this?”  
The elf lord turned his attention to heir and fixed him with a disapproving frown. Prince Rowan’s royal blue eyes glared at the offending piece of meat as if he couldn't quite believe it existed. The venison in question did look dry, flaky, and over salted. Such a fate awaited all who hunted for food in the last few seasons. Meat dried too quickly even when preserved. The crops - or what crops they could grow in the east - were struck with disease and filth and quickly withered. Glorendil had been forced to look outside of his province for food, but the decrease in adequate trading materials made obtaining money for commerce practically impossible.  
Glorendil turned from the window and said, “I have written to you and your father concerning this matter. The land cannot sustain certain crops and vegetation. Berries normally edible are now poisonous. Any meat we obtain from local farms and hunters rots by the end of the day no matter how well preserved. I fear it is the work of sorcery pulling life and power from the land. My daughter and I have attempted to heal what we could, but the damage is too widespread. I fear the possibility of a stronger entity than a mere human dabbling in sorcery is behind this.”  
Prince Rowan gazed at the food thoughtfully. Glorendil watched his fork casually tap against the oak wood of his desk. He knew what it was the prince considered in this moment. He was slowly, blessedly, connecting the events of the past few weeks of his stay to what the reports told him on the plight of the people. Then there was Lissiel, an elf lady visiting a friend in the small province just north of Earithgil from the country over the mountains, who came knocking at the castle gates begging for sanctuary from a necromancer hunting her. Rowan had turned the poor elf lady away stating he had little time for such fancies despite Glorendil’s orders to let her enter the castle walls. As the word of the heir was greater than the word of the lord all were forced to obey.  
Then, three days later, the mangled corpse of Lady Lissiel of Drisidiel, wife of Lord Regent Rillon, was found in a dry stream bed covered in dark marks of a particularly nasty curse. After performing an autopsy, himself, Glorendil concluded that the curse made tar grow inside the blood veins throughout her body and suffocated her soul. The skin was bloated and full. Nothing but clumps of that cursed tar oozed out of her body when he slipped a thin knife along her sternum. The family were never sent the body. Glorendil was forced to burn it immediately lest the corpse be used as a necromantic soldier.  
“You believe this is the work of Lord Delmar?” The prince asked.  
“I've had no reason to think my research has been faulty, your highness,” Glorendil replied.  
Prince Rowan’s eyes gazed at the plate before him gleaming an intense blue glare. It made Glorendil uneasy. What was his mood? Would he react to the jibe in the way of his father, the king?  
“I was foolish to not to allow Lady Lissiel sanctuary, wasn't I?” Prince Rowan asked.  
_Yes! You were more than foolish! You were cruel!_ Glorendil thought, but didn't say.  
Despite his rage - a rage long held by one who knew the previous two elvenkings before the boy’s father took the throne - burned within him at that moment. Glorendil wanted to condemn him and burn him with words and shame. Still, he held his tongue and curtailed that rage and considered his response. To chastise Prince Rowan for realizing his mistake would impede Glorendil’s attempt to cultivate the makings of a just king if no other trait could be impressed upon him.  
_And I suppose that is what I am reduced to: the councilor to princes whose advice was to ignored and rarely considered_ , he thought.  
“It would have been wise. The Lady Lissiel has not been known to speak falsely in the years I have known her,” Glorendil replied tonelessly.  
The prince stood and strode away from the desk toward the door. Glorendil followed with a frown, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes cast to the left of the retreating prince. A strand of silver white hair fell into his eyes, but he didn't attempt to push it away.  
“My father may not give me leave to look for this threat. He will not see that a threat exists. In his wisdom he will state the happenings of crops and disease and declare it natural,” Prince Rowan said.  
“Forgive me, sire, but your father may be wrong in this instance,” Glorendil replied.  
“And What will you do against the word of a king?”  
Glorendil didn't reply. There was little he could do and the prince did agree that something needed to be done. They reached the grand staircase when his daughter, Faelyn, hastened to them. Her emerald green eyes - his eyes - were wide and the pallor of her skin along her face and neck turned as white as a sheet. They stopped their trek as she stopped her hasty steps before them. She didn't look at Rowan whose royal blue eyes stared her down with a frown adorning his lips. The prince’s blond hair was pulled back into a half braid meant to hold the silver circlet adorning his brow.  
Faelyn glanced at him, raised a delicate dark brow, and inclined her head to him ever so slightly. Then she turned to Glorendil and rested her hand against the white marble wall.  
“I must apologize for this interruption, father, but I've come to report that we have a visitor. She entered through the gates, somehow, and is currently in the foyer demanding an audience with his highness,” She said breathlessly.  
Glorendil raised a brow. It was rare for him to see his daughter so flustered. She took after him in personality, so her ability to remain calm in any crisis was impeccable until today.  
“Who is this?” Glorendil asked.  
Faelyn looked at him and replied, “Lady Lauriel of Rin-Tullen.”  
Glorendil turned his gaze from her to fix Rowan with a look. The prince seemed startled, but he didn't bend his cold countenance or offer any recognition as to whom the lady was. He merely nodded to Faelyn and instructed her to lead him to the entrance hall. As they made the short trek Glorendil trailed behind his daughter and his prince unable to proudly precede him and introduce his liege to the lady whose sister’s death he inadvertently had a hand in.  
The doors to the hall opened and Prince Rowan stepped passed Glorendil and Faelyn into the entrance hall. His back was straight, arms loosely hung at his side, and golden blond hair not a strand out of place from the circlet of braids along his crown.  
Lady Lauriel stood in the middle of the hall wrapped in a grey cloak with her golden hair cascading over her shoulders in a metallic stream. No strand of her hair was bound and framed her heart shaped face with long curls. Her grey eyes gazed at the prince seeing no one else but him. In them was no other emotion but icy rage.  
“What is this matter you wish to discuss?” Prince Rowan asked.  
Lord Glorendil stepped forward a few stones beyond the prince and drew his left hand to his shoulder and bowed. Her expression thawed ever so slightly when she saw him, but only a little. Whatever it was she came to do Glorendil suspected it wouldn't be pleasant.  
“Your highness, I have come to speak with you on the subject of my deceased sister, Lissiel. She passed through Earithgil and was found dead four miles from your vassals castle. I wish to know if you saw the signs of the creature who inflicted such torture upon her,” she stated.  
Glorendil glanced at Rowan and felt the writhing of unease in the pit of his gut. Lady Lauriel wasn't asking these questions because she didn't know her sister was turned away from these doors. She was asking because Glorendil had been the one to find her cursed and mangled form. He had written the letter of apology and condolence. He had made brief mention to Lord Rillon - an elf he’d known for almost two thousand years - that Lissiel being turned away was an order from Prince Rowan.  
_What have I condemned my prince to?_ Glorendil wondered as horror washed over him.  
Finally Prince Rowan seemed to wilt for a moment and glanced at Glorendil. His eyes conveyed uncertainty. Glorendil had never seen him uncertain about anything in his life. Then Rowan seemed to regain something of his composure and began to descend the last flight of stairs down to the floor of the hall.  
“We have seen signs of sorcery, my Lady, but as of now my hands are tied. We are unable to override the rule of the king and the king does not wish to address the issue,” he said.  
Glorendil closed his eyes and placed a hand on Faelyn’s shoulder. She didn't need to be told. His daughter turned from the scene and left the great hall. He opened his eyes once she left and remained in place to watch the proceedings. He hoped, fervently hoped, that Lauriel would not kill the son of his king. Then he would be forced to fight her and as a friend of her sister’s family he felt it in poor name to dishonor her memory so.  
“Did your father give the order to bar my sister from shelter?” Snapped Lauriel.  
Glorendil raised a brow. He’d seen her sparsely in the three thousand years he had known her and not once had she lost control in such a way. Lauriel and Lissiel has been born a millennia apart. Rillon loved telling Glorendil tales of how Lauriel viewed Lissiel as her most beloved sister - almost as a mother would a daughter - in the face of their own departed parents. The crime of Rowan in her eyes was worse than the ones who murdered Lissiel.  
“I was not in the mood to entertain what I believed to be a fanciful tale of woe. I had no evidence to believe that these signs were the work of sorcery at that time,” Prince Rowan said.  
Lauriel’s hand blurred and the resounding clap of her palm meeting the flesh of the prince’s cheek resounded in the hall. Still Lord Glorendil did not move. He could not. Try as he might his entire body was frozen in place and he recognized the sound of her slap for what it was - enchantment.  
_The skill found in one so young! To immobilize me with the sound of her hand as it strikes in anger! I can barely believe how far she has come!_ He thought awed.  
“Has the age of reason with fair justice ended this day? They who do not listen to the cries of help from the helpless are no better than the vile beings who inflect our lands with evil. Your family has neglected the duties of their station for too long! A reckoning must be dealt!” She cried and raised her hands.  
If Glorendil could have moved he would have stumbled back into the main stairwell moments before the pressure of her enchantment bore down upon him. As he could not move and was made to be witness to Lauriel’s wrath he had to content himself with a pained groan. Rowan stumbled away from Lauriel as a great wind filled the hall and caused her grey traveling cloak to billow apart. Underneath Glorendil observed her breastplate, finely smelted chainmail, and shin protectors.  
Where has she been before coming to see us? He wondered.  
“Prince Rowan of Calamerdon you stand accused of callously refusing entry to one who needed sanctuary from the evil that hunted her. The result of this refusal was her death. Your other crimes are numerous: apathy towards the mistreatment of your human subjects, coercing elf maids into sexual inter coarse and damaging their reputations later on, and remaining apathetic to the suffering of the lowest of your people! With your hand in my sister’s death I judge you as cruel, devoid of compassion, and love! For that I name you a beast! May you stalk the night and inflict terror on those you do not wish to harm until you learn to love and be loved in return!” She cried and brought her hands together above her head in a resounding clap.  
Glorendil winced as whatever enchantment that held him still was released. He did not rush to his prince’s aid. The sight before him was too awe fully striking to behold. A light enveloped the elf and he fell to the floor to writhe and scream as his body morphed. His arms and shoulders bulged and ripped his shirt, fur sprouted thickly on his pale skin, and his fingers elongated into terrifying claws. His face lengthened and stretched, lips curled back into a toothy snarl, and his teeth pointed into sharp disgusting canines.  
Lauriel simply stood before the prince as the transformation happened. When the light dissipated Glorendil beheld a hideous beast. Her grey eyes gazed at him and the cold rage was all he could see. Rowan struggled to all fours, snarled, and lunged at her. His arms extended toward her chest and stomach to land powerfully killing blows. She thrust out her hand and pushed him away. Rowan flew backwards and hit several steps with his bared back.  
“Once your lesson is learned your curse will break. If you do not not learn this lesson in two hundred years you will wake one morning as a full beast. Your time as an elf will be at an end,” she said.  
With that Lauriel turned her back on him and stepped out into the night. The rain had cleared, the clouds had parted, and the silver light of the moon was reflected on the glassy rain puddles along the path beyond the threshold. Stricken, Glorendil gazed at Rowan as his beastly form struggled to stand on two feet. He was large - larger than the biggest elk - with teeth and claws that could rip out his throat without a second thought.  
Rowan's eyes turned to look up the stairs directly at him. Their blue orbs glinted. Glorendil released an audible sigh as the prince charged up the stairs with every intention to kill before bellowing out a loud note to stop him in his tracks. That note turned softer as he lulled the beast asleep for the night. Once Prince Rowan’s hulking form slumped to the floor lost in slumber Faelyn reappeared preceded by a series of hesitant footsteps.  
“Father, what are we to tell the king?” She asked.  
“Everything,” Glorendil told her resolutely despite wishing the contrary could be true, “he must know the gravity of his reign and what it might cost him. The curse set upon his heir must be broken if he is going to rule. If the lady of Rin-Tullen can do such a thing to an heir protected by the power of The One then our royal family has been deemed unworthy of the power and the throne.”  
Faelyn sucked in a sharp breath and knelt beside the prince. She cautiously inspected the damage the curse wrought and released a curse Glorendil was surprised she knew.  
“Then we have no king?” She asked.  
Glorendil frowned. Did they have no king? They didn't in the way it mattered, but much of the protections still held. He could sense its undercurrent in the air, trees and water. It was still there.  
“I suspect we are in limbo. If the prince is given over to this form the royal line as it was will cease to exist. We must stress the necessity of breaking our Prince’s curse. I will volunteer my services and yours into helping to make this come to pass. In the meantime I will use what resources are at my disposal to hunt the one who murdered Lady Lissiel,” he said.  
_And at least make the Prince care about that matter at least,_ Glorendil thought.  
It would take a miracle to do this and Glorendil suspected that was all he could hope for in this venture.  
A miracle.


	2. Bellethiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- an excerpt from the travel journal of Lady Laurelie Morelindiel -
> 
> In Calamerdon they call themselves the Caelvur. Ladies of the court are Caeldis (singular) and Caelveth (plural). Lords are called Caelvon (singular) and Caelden (plural). Essentially these are the titles “lord” and “lady” respectively with the neutral noun, Caelvur, to mean a “person of high status” or even “overseer”. The elves of Calamerdon have a higher status than other races who choose to reside in their country and, in turn, receive the pronouns of honor.  
> In the common elvish - the universal dialect - the pronouns are divided thusly: females are Eldis (singular) and Elveth (plural). Males are Elvon (singular) and Elden. The universal name for their race is Elf or Elves among humans while the name they use amongst themselves is Elfur and Elvurs. In Drisidiel that same universal name for their race is used by the Fae ruling class. The Fae language is deployed more often than not in dealings with The Gentry while common tongue - the human language of Ryem - replaces the rest.  
> Rin-Tullen; however, employs a different dialect than Calamerdon despite it's peoples being close cousins. These elves call themselves the Tulelfur. The ladies are Tuleldis (singular) and Tulelveth (plural) while the men are Tulelvon (singular) and Tulelden (plural). This is used to designate the common elf whether they are part of the court or lower class.

**Chapter 1**

**Bellethiel**

_I remember the eldis’ first days in Lochard. She and her cousins had wandered in from Ryem after being chased out of our Lord Glorendil’s birth town, Dasidoit. The girl was awkward and mistrustful. She never said a word to anyone until she met that little human girl, Anne Lynn. The child only had to chatter in the general direction of the elf maid for several minutes before she engaged. Even so it pains me to hold the same sentiments as others in the city. For this time, this last time, let it be one of the elfur._

_\- from the official records of Elder Alfred Hamil of the Lochard city Council_

* * *

 

_199 years later…_

The book in her hand weighed heavily on her mind while she strode down the length of the street. Next to her a taller eldis with long black hair tied tightly back from her face into a tight braid gazed at the street before them expression somber. Bellethiel paid her little mind. They’d spent the duration of the journey discussing the book both just finished reading dissecting its details and pondering its representation of characters and places. Some places referenced existed, though the characters were mere figments of rumor and mythology.  
**“The Triumph of Uterrion Balagera”** by Linderon Raylessel was a particular classic both cousins found they mutually enjoyed. Bellethiel’s cousin, Auriel, didn’t enjoy reading for the sake of reading as much as Bellethiel did, but there were certain genres and authors both of them enjoyed. On their thirty minute walk from their cottage nestled in the high wooded glade in the hills overlooking the city the two of them spent several minutes analyzing the impact of the mythological figure and whether or not Uterrion was, indeed, someone who once existed.  
“Your uncle believed he was real,” Auriel remarked causally, “your father’s brother.”  
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met Uncle Ven,” Bellethiel replied, “ I hadn’t realized you had.”  
“Very briefly and close to the publication of this very novel. He had a few things to say about the characters, but the dates and facts, he said, were correct,” Auriel explained.  
Bellethiel’s uncle, Venderon Fyordion, was a known wanderer on her father’s side of the family. Because of this he had a habit of rarely sending word of his current status, marrying humans without binding them to his life force, and showing up several centuries later to commune with the family. Bellethiel had yet to meet him, though she’d heard recently from her father that the uncle in question had visited them.  
“Father told me he’s currently working with some female elf on the subject of Lord Delmar,” Bellethiel remarked.  
Auriel snorted, “I doubt he’s doing more than gathering intelligence on the subject. Your uncle is not a fighter, but a philosopher.”  
Then she promptly scoffed at the idea and fell silent. Bellethiel understood what that meant. Conversation over, don't ask further questions. It made her spine tense and her stomach turn with the old rage that came with fifty years of being on the run, kept in the dark, and, finally, told to cease worrying about the dark forces hunting her because she was in a place of protection. So long as they remained in Lord Glorendil’s lands the king of Calamerdon could fall, but his protections - as ancient as they were - still held.  
Bellethiel, in her youthful wisdom, had decided to test the waters of that protection much to all three of her cousins’ consternation.  
The gates of the city loomed before them. Men and Elves - as humans called them - from the City Watch stood at the gates with the men on the ground and the elves on the watchtowers resting their unstrung bows on the windows. To the right peeked the roof of the gatehouse behind the beginning of the wall. The humans nodded to Auriel when she approached and then shot identical frowns at Bellethiel as she passed them into the city.  
Her chipper mood evaporated as she stepped into the city and was greeted by the same mistrustful, pensive looks of the people. A flock of elveth passed her - each of them a few years beyond their majority - and smirked at her in the way Calamerdon elf maids typically did when they believed themselves better than another. Bellethiel held her head high and plastered the most cheerful smile that she could on her face and waved at them.  
“Ylearnel, Lofindis, Ellaarien, it is a pleasure to see you again this fine day,” she greeted.  
Lofindis ungraciously turned up her nose, but she responded courteously in any case. The other two followed suit each less enthusiastic as the last. Auriel watched from the side prepared to intervene in the instance one of them showed unwarranted hostility.  
“I did not realize you would come into the city before the ceremony began,” Lofindis remarked and played with her free flowing long brown hair.  
“While the ceremony is in a week our larder is, unfortunately, unable to accommodate us in that time. We must restock our resources,” Bellethiel replied.  
“A wise decision, in that case,” Lofindis said dryly.  
This conversation is far too disconcerting for my taste. What do they want? She wondered.  
“Your beaux will be exuberant at knowing you’re in town,” Ylearnel said.  
Her voice was a glaring contrast to Lofindis’. The latter’s voice was low and soothing, carefully constructed to meet a certain social standard equal to her station, while the former’s was not so conscientious. Ylearnel’s voice seemed to be purposefully nasal and overly condescending. She was tall, slender, and blond. Her body was clad in a simple blue velvet dress and her hair worn loose to the wintry weather’s whims. Consequently, she was known to be an insatiable gossip among the elven community and not a particularly intelligent elf.  
“I do not know what you mean,” Bellethiel said keeping her tone as neutral as she possibly could.  
Elaerien smiled and stepped forward to Lofindis’ shoulder. Bellethiel raised a brow and noticed Auriel’s posture tense. Elaerien was known to inflict cruelty on those she despised. It wasn’t a secret she disliked Bellethiel. They constantly spared against each other in the “mixed” university at the center of town. Bellethiel beat her several times in the most humiliating of ways. Finn and Filan made certain to hone her prowess at close quarter combat. As Elaerien was much taller than Bellethiel it was a simple lesson in aerodynamics and gravity. Filan, ever the naturalist when it came to fighting, made it his mission to show his little cousin all the finer weaknesses a taller and larger opponent had to offer. Elaerien never had a chance once Bellethiel’s cousins were finished with her and that made her particularly hostile.  
“What she means, child, is that human oaf strutting around the village claiming he will marry you,” she said snidely.  
Bellethiel schooled her facial features into a controlled frown as she replied, “I was unaware that such an arrangement had been made. He must be mistaken. If you will ladies I believe my cousin would like to continue our mission. Good day to you.”  
She curtsied and walked brusquely passed Auriel to get as far away from the irritating caelveth as she possibly could. Oh, the odious speculation! Bellethiel couldn't escape it even if she wanted to.  
People continued to stare at her and whisper amongst themselves. No one, it seemed, could bring themselves to believe she was actually staying. The elf Maidens were notoriously swept away from the city by concerned family members. Some were even sent away at the young age of sixty for their schooling and kept from returning until a year after their majority.  
Two months after turning one hundred years old Bellethiel fell into that category. Much to all three of her cousin’s consternation she had elected to remain in the village and take part. They fussed about the idea, of course, but after careful study on the subject she discovered an inability to let the matter lie.  
Carefully Bellethiel stepped around a particularly nasty patch of ice and watched her elder cousin, Auriel, do the same. Her elder cousin was The youngest of three and, at the age of three hundred, looked every bit of the dark elven beauty everyone said she was. To Bellethiel, she was like a princess out of a story book with long raven hair tied into a simple braid, skin as pale as moonlight, and lips as red as blood. Her eyes were twin pools of icy grey and could fix anyone with a glare to melt the toughest metal. Clothed in her hunting garb Auriel cut a fine slender figure of the working elf. Bellethiel both admired and envied her.  
Bellethiel was far shorter than Auriel was, but just as slender though her breasts and hips held a few more curves than most elvur. Her hair was long and brown and her eyes twin pools of amber. Her skin was clear and pink and her walk not quite as graceful as Auriel, but despite this Bellethiel was considered a beauty among the elves of the town. This was primarily due to her more approachable nature. Auriel was just as cold as her grey eyes would suggest to strangers and even colder to people she disliked.  
“They haven't ceased their chatter on your attending the Ceremony of Maidens,” Auriel remarked while her fingers adjusted their hold on the patch of furs she’d gathered from the last few months of hunting.  
Bellethiel smiled. It didn't have as much feeling as her others, but some warmth remained. It didn't seem to reassure her cousin who placed her free hand softly on Bellethiel’s shoulder to express whatever form of comfort she could.  
“I worry for you, Belle, this is not an intelligent situation to willingly put yourself in,” her cousin admonished.  
“I'm aware of that, cousin, you have made your position quite clear,” Bellethiel replied curtly.  
She was certain her cousin muttered a “clearly not enough” remark under her breath, but she chose to ignore it. This was an argument that spanned the length of six months when Bellethiel has announced her intention to remain in Lochard and be the lone representative of her race at the Ceremony of Maidens. Auriel was likely never to forgive her for it no matter how many years passed.  
The city of Lochard was a buzz with the latest news on the subject. Lord Glorendil had already arrived in the early morning to speak with the City Council and the Mayor about the upcoming Ceremony of Maidens. The ladies of Lochard who were within six months of their majority would be paraded before the council and the region’s lord to have the great honor of being chosen. The one girl chosen would go to the great castle that was Lord Glorendil's abode and be forced to somehow romance the foul tempered prince of the land by order of the king. Everyone who remained in the city would be forced to take part. Consequently those elves in the city became conspicuously absent as the ceremony approached. As far as their records could tell Bellethiel had been the first to remain and would be the first to take part. It was dangerous, but anything to keep her best friend, Anne, from being chosen would more than make up for it.  
_Anne with her new beaux she won't name. Anne as frail as any human could be. Anne who’s angry with me for becoming a contestant,_ she thought.  
Both Anne and Auriel and Finn and Filan were unhappy with the decision. It was generally unknown who Bellethiel’s parents were. The Prince would know soon enough once the Ceremony was over and if - when - Bellethiel was chosen.  
“Your mother will place a curse on me if she knew,”Auriel muttered.  
That sentiment hadn't passed her cousin’s lips for the first time; either. In fact, Bellethiel had heard it almost daily.  
“You can tell her after the Ceremony. Personally, I would like to see Lord Delmar try to get passed the monster of a prince. I suspect it would rather entertaining,” Bellethiel quipped.  
She glanced over her shoulder to find Auriel fixing her with an extremely pointed expression. Bellethiel grinned and veered away from her cousin with a wave.  
“Mr. Talin’s little book shop calls to me! I must answer! Meet me at the jewelry stand and we will continue to Mr. Lynne’s dairy!” She chirped as she made her hasty retreat.  
“Please try not to do anything rash while I'm gone!” Auriel called exasperated.  
Bellethiel only laughed and cheerfully walked down the street with a spring in her step. The high pitched laughter turned into light high notes that floated musical notes of power into the breeze. Little snowflakes danced up from where they drifted over barrels and flower pots and swirled into various shapes of birds and butterflies. This was a mask. It helped her maintain an air of calm despite how the people’s unhappiness unsettled her.  
“Look at her walk down the street like some bloody heiress,” muttered a woman to her friend as she passed.  
That friend frowned and replied, “At least she wants to take part in the ceremony. We should be thankful that one of their kind is actually willing to take part this year.”  
“Hmph! I don’t trust her! She’ll up and leave before the ceremony, just you wait!”  
Bellethiel continued her trek turning the birds and butterflies around her head turned into three dogs that chased their tails and the heads of passers by. Some of the children laughed and the older girls and boys giggled. The adults didn’t seem quite as impressed, so Bellethiel willed them to return to her and burst into glittering flakes of snow with the sound of one sharp note.  
That woman’s friend was someone Bellethiel knew by name only. Martha Culwaite, who was a chosen girl twenty years earlier. Long before Bellethiel and her family ever set foot in Calamerdon. She was not a particularly gracious woman, so her response to her friend stunned Bellethiel ever so slightly.  
The tensions among the city’s folk were clear and present. Bellethiel had experienced their growing unease in the last two weeks as it became clear she wasn’t going to leave like the rest of the elfur with daughters of the age to take part. There were not as many of them as humans, but the council would have chosen an elf whenever they could to give their girls a break. This year Bellethiel would be the one to be chosen. There was little reason to doubt her assumption. The city council members were already discussing it according to her cousin Finn and the present mood of the people placed plenty of pressure on them.  
She sighed and adjusted her hold on the book she was set to return to the local library. Said library loomed before her now, built from old grey stone leftover from the gold mine in the Mountains of Morning closest to the western lake shore. Each detail was carved with precision and care by the hands of crafty dwarves who lived near the docks. Twin trees framed a solid door carved from the largest branches of an old red oak tree. Near the roof were various depictions of owls, great and small, from any species she could bring to mind. Two brick steps veered from the granite cobbled road to the threshold and Bellethiel followed it and carefully, with a reverence she would readily admit to if asked, lifted the latch and stepped into the warm hall.  
While elfur didn’t necessarily feel cold the way humans did Bellethiel noticed the abrupt change in temperature all the same. All thoughts on that subject faded from her mind, as brief as they were, and she took in the sweet aged aroma of old book and began planning what sort of book she would next borrow. Her fingers absently undid the brown strings of her wool cloak. A human matron bustled up to her as the cloak slipped off of her shoulders and into the crook of an elbow.  
“Here Miss Belle, I’ll take that. Would ya like me to fetch you the master?” She asked in a brusque voice.  
Bellethiel turned a grateful smile to her as she handed her the snow soaked garment. The aged face with soft brown eyes and peppered black hair tied into a tight bun returned that smile with a kind look.  
“Thank you Mrs. Weatherby,” Bellethiel said.  
Mrs. Weatherby disappeared into a small parlor adjacent to the main door. Bellethiel followed her and sat into a heavily cushioned chair to the left of the fire. The matron hung her cloak on a hook nearer to the heath, but not too close for the wool to catch fire.  
“Now, there’s a few small books of poetry on the table for your entertainment. I’ll be a few minutes to fetch Mr. Talin. He’s been a bit preoccupied today,” Mrs. Weatherby said.  
“Thank you, Mrs. Weatherby,” Bellethiel responded, “you’ve been very kind.”  
Mrs. Weatherby smiled, hovered for a moment, before resting a gentle hand on Bellethiel’s shoulder, “Well, I want to be sure you know not everyone distrusts your honor, love.”  
Bellethiel’s eyes watered at the sentiment and she looked to the floor while rapidly blinking them away. With a squeeze Mrs. Weatherby left the parlor to find Mr. Talin. A minute passed before she reached for one of the books on the table beside her.  
The Lays of Silvien Dulthina by Author Unknown.  
Bellethiel opened the thin volume to its third page and began to read where she left off the last time she’d visited the library. Soon her awareness of the world around her dissolved and she lost herself in the rich words of whoever penned such a renowned epic.

_The tempest tossed waters beat the brow_   
_Sailors resisted the angry winds_   
_No relief was offered from the violent sky_   
_And Allenin’s vessel broke upon the descent_   
_Of the highest wave._   
_Brave Allenin fought and triumphed against the waves_   
_Though his men lost their way._   
_Once sunlight pierced the low grey clouds_   
_The Prince of Humans found himself alone._   
_A day and a half passed._   
_Chance of land seemed hopeless._   
_But in the late afternoon of the second day,_   
_Allenin washed upon the western shores of Du’Gratta_   
_The holy land of the elves._

 

“Lost is she to the pages of a book where none shall reach her evermore.”

Bellethiel looked up from the nail biting moment and smiled at Mr. Richard Talin. His hands and robes were stained with blue ink and pale glue. Years of lifting great volumes onto shelves left the man bent at the shoulders, but thin and lean. His human features wrinkled like a ripening prune year by year, but the twinkle in his eyes remained the same.  
“You are the one who insists on placing romantic epics best my hand,” She chided.  
“You refuse to touch romance of any kind unless I make you,” he said pointedly.  
“Epics have better plots and higher quality prose.”  
“You think so now, but one day you will change your mind on the subject.”  
Bellethiel placed the thin book back onto the table and stood. Mr. Talin was barely taller than her and their minds placed them at the same footing as the other. Humans learned in ways that were much quicker than elves at times. She suspected it was due to the substantially shorter lived humans lived. At times she lost herself in fascination of human customs, manners, and thought. They were such strange creatures, yet some had similar mannerisms, interests and knowledge as elves and Fae and dwarves.  
“Now, I see you wish to return **The Triumph of Uterrion Balagera**. Did you and your cousin enjoy it as much as I did?” He asked.  
Bellethiel chuckled and picked up the borrowed book from her table and held it out to him, “Auriel had some interesting insights on the historicity of the subject.”  
Mr. Talin smiled as he accepted the offered item and ran his fingers along the old, worn out cover. A strange, wistful, expression crossed his eyes then and Bellethiel was unsure what to make of it.  
“It is a precious tale for those of us who live in Calamerdon. In these times we have hoped for the return of Uterrion Balagera’s sense of goodness and honor. We had hoped…” he trailed off and his eyes took on a distant expression.  
Then, as if remembering himself, he smiled to her and held up a thin finger. Bellethiel smiled with anticipation. An idea for a book she might enjoy had come to him. He turned and beckoned for her to follow him.  
Directly from the atrium was a smaller door that opened into an expansive room inhabited by various servants, librarians, and scholars. Bellethiel felt her fingers itch at the thought of studying with the scholarly individuals, but she kept her countenance. Auriel hadn't thought it best for her to hold herself away into libraries for months on end. Such places weren't well protected and could easily lend to Bellethiel’s kidnapping or death.  
_I will have centuries if The One is kind enough to grant them to me. I will have to wait for the chance,_ she thought.  
Mr. Talin stopped at a small table that held a moderate stack of books on its face. Bellethiel raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. Her lips quirked with a brief smile.  
“You've anticipated me,” she remarked.  
“My Lady, I have learned to anticipate you ever since you arrived at my threshold ten years ago. Now, enough banter! There is a little volume here concerning Uterrion that I think you will find most interesting. Come see,” he waved her to the table as he pulled a thick volume from the stack and positioned it on the table.  
Bellethiel stepped closer and bent to study the title. **“The History of Calamerdon’s Kings: a study of account and myth”** by Rhaella Balagera. She glanced up at Mr. Talin’s knowing smile before taking the volume in hand.  
“I may have to take this with me if I am chosen,” she said.  
Her voice shook more than she had meant it to. Mr. Talin placed a kind hand on her shoulder in response before motioning to the rest of the stack.  
“If you would like, you can take another. This particular volume will take some time to read through,” he offered.  
He didn't add that he thought she would benefit from it’s contents. Saying so was unnecessary. She understood. Bellethiel placed the volume back onto the table and sifted through the rest of the books. Mr. Talin had meticulously picked through a goodly amount of romance novels. She frowned at him.  
“You know this genre is not my favorite,” she said.  
“Yes, I do; however you may have a daunting task ahead of you and thought you may like to know how such things work,” he explained.  
Bellethiel swallowed, throat suddenly dry, as she thought about the pending Festival of Maidens and what was likely to come of it. Romance that beast of a prince? He’d as soon as have her killed if she tried something as ridiculous as that!  
“Why do you think I should try?” She asked.  
Mr. Talin’s expression sobered and he tapped the large history book. Bellethiel glanced at it again, uncomprehending, before returning her attention to him.  
“When you read this you will understand,” he said.  
Bellethiel studied the great volume for a moment before returning her attention to the offending romance novel. **“A Night With the King”** by Sildain Sarve was engraved in a thin wooden cover and painted over in gold. She frowned and opened the book to the first page.  
“Is this about that incident in the eastern kingdom of Peruse?” She asked.  
“It’s based on it, yes. Belle, I know this book will benefit you and may even encourage you in the times you will soon face,” he said, tone grave.  
Bellethiel swallowed passed the lump that formed in her throat. She believed he thought so. In fact, he could very well be right in his assumption. Even so, she believed he asked too much of her in that regard. The prince would never love the daughter of the elf who cursed him and she? Bellethiel may have the opinion that she would rather marry him than the blaggard, Lucien, but that didn't mean she could find it in herself to love the wretch! Despite her certainty Bellethiel chose the recommended romance novel anyway.


	3. Lucien du Lac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't anywhere near where I want this chapter to be, but I figured it would be fine to upload the draft as is. There's only so much editing I can do before it gets in the way of me actually finishing this new draft.

**Chapter 2**

**Lucien Du Lac**

 

_We were never certain of the true reason for Lucien’s obsession with Bellethiel. He never elaborated on his reasons for wishing to court her and she, for her part, was decidedly uninterested in his person._

_\- from the personal account of Anne Lynn on the subject of The Elf-Beast._

 

Late afternoon approached before Bellethiel finally tore herself away from the library. Despite having selected the next two books she would work on before her next visit, she wished to explore the grand shelves and run her fingertips along the spines of the oldest works in the collection. It made her forget, for a moment, the looming call to destiny she prepared to boldly enter. As her time drew nearer she didn't feel bold, she wasn't confident, and she was afraid of what facing the beast might mean. Belle needed the books, needed the escape, to regain some semblance of certainty that everything would be alright.  
She bid Mr. Talin and Mrs Weatherby farewell before tucking her borrowed books into her whicker basket and stepped into the wintry air. Clouds covered the once sunny sky and sparse snowflakes drifted lazily down from their grey folds. Bellethiel’s steps bounced as she navigated the throng of people milling about the outskirts of the market.  
A few members of the Forrest Guard congregated at one corner drinking warm cider offered to them by a particularly gracious vendor. From her vantage point Bellethiel noticed a street performer juggling knives into the air. The elves of the Forrest Guard were likely taking bets with the humans to see how long the juggler could hold out. When it seemed like he was finally finished with that particular act, he flourished his wrist and deftly caught each point in between his fingers.  
The elves paid the humans whatever it was they owed them in that moment. All of them were guffawing at the other. Two of them threw some of their coins into a deep tin bucket near the performer and saluted him - balled left fist drawn to right shoulder. The performer dropped into a low bow and began to dance a jig and sing in a bright clear tenor.  
Chuckling, Bellethiel moved away from the scene and took a turn at one corner that took her lower into the city towards the docks. Auriel would be there haggling with the fur traders about the value of each perk she brought in from her last hunt. There was a chance she’d see Lucien, but with Auriel nearby he wouldn't attempt anything too obscene.  
She pulled a face at the thought. If only there was a way to get around him! But he’d set his sights on her for six months and didn't seem overly perturbed by her repeated rebuffs of his advances. If he continued in such a manner after the Festival of Maidens she was determined to do something about him.  
“Belle!”  
She started and glanced over her shoulder to find Anne Lynn, her best friend, hastening to her side. A few tightly wrapped packages rested in her basket. Her fiery red hair was tied into a messy bun - made messy by her thick curly hair - and she wore a particularly thick coat over her well built body. As the daughter of one of the popular dairy producers in the city she worked on her own cheeses, yogurts, and creams.  
“I am truly happy to see you! Mother is insufferable this morning! She says I must look my best for the Ceremony of Maidens even if I'm not going to be chosen!” She rolled her eyes and settled into a comfortable pace next to Belle. “She won't think for a moment that the council won't put me forth since you've announced your inclusion.”  
Bellethiel raised an eyebrow and looked around at the people passing them. Some openly stated while others averted their eyes. One younger man on the city council caught her eye, blushed, and averted his gaze.  
“I suppose the choice has already been made. They haven't narrowed down the candidates yet since their last meeting, have they?” She asked.  
Anne shook her head, “No, but my brother is certain…” her voice broke and Anne fell silent.  
Bellethiel glanced at her. Anne had been a little girl when they’d met. She was a lonely creature made fun of by the boys for her red hair and cluster of freckles across her nose. Green eyes were cast down to stare only at the snow covered brick of the street.  
“I am not helpless, Anne.”  
“But If he finds out… no, once he finds out who you are, what then?” She asked.  
“Then What happens will happen and there will be nothing we can do about it.”  
“Belle.”  
“No! Anne, your people have been forced to endure a beast for too long. I will not allow this to continue without a contribution from my people. If I must be that one to do it then so be it,” Bellethiel insisted.  
The fingers of Anne’s free hand closed around her arm and Bellethiel felt herself jerked to a stop. Her friend’s strength surprised her at times. It was something humans differed in with elves. Their strength was lesser, finite, and could only grow for a short amount of time before fading away with age. Admittedly some of the humans in Lochard, and Calamerdon as a whole, kept their strength and life longer than most. In Calamerdon a human could be found to be related to an elf in certain Provence's where it was acceptable for them to mix. Earithgil was one of those provinces.  
It all led to the understanding that Anne held a bit more strength than most human girls. Then again she also worked in a dairy and Bellethiel knew that work to be challenging without some form of strength. Either way, her friend’s strength sometimes took her by surprise when she wasn’t paying attention.  
“I need you to understand me, Belle. The prince has killed before!” Anne hissed.  
Belethiel’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her arm out of Anne’s grip and leaned forward. Her friend continued to stare at her angrily unperturbed by the difference in height.  
“I’m aware of that!” Bellethiel said softly. “I’m also aware of the fact that his victim was human. I am not. The prince will have a harder time killing me.”  
Anne crossed her arms. The wall of her basket rested on her stomach and tilted the frame at an angle, but not enough of one to allow for the contents to fall out.  
“What if you don’t even make it to the castle? What if Lord Glorendil kills you in retribution? It was your mother who came into his home and inflicted all out this on him in the first place,” Anne said.  
Bellethiel had considered all of this. She was aware of the fact that her decision, while popular among most people in Lochard, might not be popular among those who were forced to inhabit the castle with Prince Rowan. It was a contentious bargain with fate to enter such a place and expect no retribution.  
“I don’t know what will happen, Anne, but I do know that anything truly of worth may also be equally as dangerous. If I don’t do anything, if I left like all the others, than one of your people will be chosen from the Ceremony of Maidens and another human will be forced to endure him,” she explained.  
Anne watched her a moment longer before tersely shaking her head. A sigh accompanied the movement soon after and Bellethiel felt herself relax. The argument was over and they could go back to being friends again.  
“I suppose there’s no convincing you otherwise, so we best go see what your cousin has managed to trade for her furs. Which reminds me,” Anne turned the basket she held and moved a few of the packages around before finding one particularly big one, pulling it out, and presenting it to Bellethiel, “father didn’t get a chance to pay Auriel for the fur duvet she had made, so he’s carefully gathered and made this lot for you. It’s our season’s best.”  
Bellethiel smiled and took the offered package. It was heavier than the book Mr. Talin presented to her. The package disappeared into her own basket and they continued their trek down to the docks.  
“Be sure to thank your father for us, Anne. It was most kind of him,” she said.  
Anne smiled. The smile didn't hold her usual sparkle, but it was only to be expected. Her friend was right to fear for Bellethiel’s life in this instance. Prince Rowan wouldn't take kindly to her presence once it was known and Bellethiel didn't hold any illusions to what her reception would be like once she set foot inside that castle.  
The lakeside docks spread out before them as they descended a particularly steep hill into the low banks of the outer city. Warmer air met them - a signal of the blessedly heated spring that fed into it from the western mountains - as well as the pungent odor of dead fish wafting from the shores. Below on the wooden walkways Bellethiel saw several fishermen heave barrels of fish, beer, ale, wine and various other goods from far reaching countries Calamerdon traded with after losing the benefit of Ryem, Drisidiel, and Rin-Tullen.  
Snow drifted from the grey-white sky and added a thicker coating to an already icy terrain. Bellethiel watched it silently remembering her early days in Rin-Tullen. Her small bit of land was further south and rarely saw thick coats of snow and ice. It bordered the Mountains of Morning, but just beyond those smaller peaks was the kingdom of Anorell. The country around that area was lush and beautiful with a warm climate and beautiful vegetation. At least that was what Bellethiel remembered. She hadn't set foot in those lands for several decades.  
_All because my family made an enemy of some dark elf with a ridiculous name,_ she thought bitterly.  
The lower city - it's oldest part - was populated by traders and fishermen. They still had bakers, dairies, and meat houses, but fish was their greatest commodity. Hunters also took their furs, pelts, and leftover meat to various stores for selling. It was here where the girls would find Auriel haggling with a fur trader. It was also where -.  
Damn! Bellethiel thought as she caught sight of a particularly unwelcome visitor joking with a couple of friends.  
Anne saw him as well, and pulled a face, “Do you think we can avoid him?”  
Bellethiel was already moving to the far side of the lower market. Another street with weapons vendors and two blacksmiths was only twenty paces away from them. If they could only reach it before Lucien saw them?  
“I’m all for making a valiant effort,” she said as she slipped around a thick crowd of fishermen.  
Anne saw the direction she headed in and moved to keep Bellethiel as far from his line of sight as she could. Luck did not seem to be on their side. The huntsman looked in their direction and smiled. It was a normal smile, thankfully, but one that precipitated a discussion Bellethiel did not wish to have at that present moment.  
“Oh bother!” Anne said, “Do you think we can still avoid him?”  
Bellethiel observed the large, muscular human excuse himself from his friends and make his way through the crowd toward him. She closed her eyes and mentally prepared herself for the confrontation to come.  
“No, I'm afraid that may be out of the question,” she said softly.  
Anne watched him, hand resting on Bellethiel’s arm, with a cold expression painted on her face. People talked about Lucien Du Lac. He slept with prostitutes, gambled heavily, drank profusely, and flirted his way into the bed of many an innocent tradesman’s daughter. It happened to one of their friends and she had the misfortune of being left with a child she barely had the means to care for. Now his sights were set on Bellethiel for a reason she couldn't fathom. As a local hunter he knew of, had many an argument with, her cousin Auriel. Then there were Finn and Filan who were part of the Forrest Guard. Bellethiel was, most likely, more protected than the rest of the human and elven girls he targeted combined. Auriel; especially, had an uncharacteristically violent opinion of the man. This despite the numerous times Bellethiel threatened to practice form manipulation on him with her songweaving with the promise that the end results would be quite painful. None of this seemed to perturb him and it left Bellethiel craving the day's when she was younger and beneath his notice.  
“Good morning, Miss Belle,” Lucien said jovially.  
He didn't acknowledge Anne who he likely deemed too tall and broad for his tastes. Bellethiel remembered overhearing one conversation on the subject two months earlier. She sung softly enough for the magic behind melting his boots to go unnoticed. The hilarity that ensued from him as he demanded to know which disgusting beast did such an abhorrent thing to him.  
“Good morning Hunter Du Lac,” she replied coldly.  
She did not incline her head, curtsy, or bow. Respect of that level from an elven Lady was earned. He didn't seem to get the hint as he stepped far too close to her without her consent. The hairs on the back of Belle’s neck stood on end at the action.  
“I see you are readying yourself for the Ceremony?” He asked.  
Bellethiel looked at her package and exchanged an exasperated look with Anne. It clearly had her father’s seal plastered on it. She considered the idea of responding with some cutting remark and decided against it. Now was not the right circumstance for such a jibe.  
“In a manner of speaking,” she finally replied.  
Lucien nodded and then studied her with his hungry brown eyes. It made Bellethiel wish she was anywhere else but with him. Anne, sensing this, stepped protectively close to Bellethiel and linked arms with her. Lucien started as if seeing Anne for the first time and fixed his cheerful grin on her.  
“I believe you will be taking part in the Ceremony, Ms. Lynn?” He stated more than asked.  
That wasn’t much of a greeting, Bellethiel thought sourly.  
“I will,” Anne replied stiffly.  
“Have you thought of what the great Beast will be like?” Lucien asked, the question directed to both of them.  
Anne flushed and cast her gaze to the ground angrily. Bellethiel smirked, more to herself than at him, as she thought on the subject. Oh, she had ideas for how that first meeting with His Royal Highness would go.  
“I suspect he may be beside himself with anger,” Bellethiel said absently.  
“Seems like a dangerous venture,” Lucien said.  
“Probably, but I suspect I will cope.”  
Anne’s expression grew darker, but she didn’t say anything. Lucien leaned toward Bellethiel and placed a hand on her shoulder in a way that was far too familiar for their current acquaintance. It took every ounce of her willpower not to immediately step away.  
“If you were to accept an engagement to a certain, say, tall and masculine specimen you could escape such a fate,” he suggested.  
It, of course, was illegal for young ladies who had just came of age to enter an engagement before the Ceremony of Maidens. Such was decreed by the elven king with the expectation that someone would be able to break the prince’s curse. Lucien knew this, but didn’t seem to want to care.  
Bellethiel fought back the frown and plastered the brightest smile she could manage, “What a remarkable plan! I’ll let you know when one comes along to catch my fancy. As the Ceremony is in three days I suspect there is little hope for such an occurrence!”  
The look on his face could have melted steel. Anne shook her head, anger forgotten, at the impertinence of Bellethiel’s remark, but the elf maiden didn’t care. Lucien had been dropped hint after hint and refused to understand her general disposition towards the idea of him becoming her husband. If she was forced to spell it out for him in small words he could understand she would do so.  
Lucien’s grip on her shoulder tightened. He was stronger than most humans, but as he had a heavier dose of elven lineage than most it didn’t surprise her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wince.  
_Let him try to bully me into getting into my bed. He will lose,_ she thought.  
“Should you enter into his presence you will be considered damaged goods by all who know you!” He hissed.  
Bellethiel met his eyes, “Then I suppose I will need to wait a few hundred years before I can court anyone worth the effort.”  
He released her and stepped one pace back. Brown eyes blazed. Bellethiel’s own amber lit with a fiery passion as she thought of different tones that could render him a doddering fool for a week.  
“Belle! Anne! There you are! I was wondering if I would find you here!”  
All eyes turned to Auriel who strode down the lane with a purposeful gate that was not to be crossed. Her furs were gone and her money pouch much heavier than it had been earlier. Grey eyes fixed a dangerous glint on Lucien.  
“Do you wish to find a dress for the Ceremony?” Her cousin asked stepping behind Bellethiel.  
Lucien’s gaze was fixed on Auriel with a hatred that Bellethiel had never seen written on anyone’s face before. It struck her heart with a fear she never knew she had until that moment. The Prince may have been a cold hearted ass, but Lucien’s intentions toward her suddenly made sense. He hated Auriel. Bellethiel was the perfect was to best hurt Auriel. He would stop at nothing until that job was completed.  
**I should kill him,** she thought, _I should kill him before he tries to use me in such a disgusting way._  
She steeled herself against such thoughts. Whatever Lucien was murdering him wasn't worth the consequences of such an action. The man scoffed and turned away and strode toward a crowd of fellow huntsman. They greeted him with various jeers that caused Bellethiel to shoot a dirty look at them, but she refrained from responding.  
“Belle? Would you like a dress?” Auriel asked casually.  
The question started Bellethiel from her thoughts and returned her to the present. She didn't take her eyes off of Lucien’s person until he disappeared into the tavern further down the block.  
“Yes, I think a new dress for the occasion is a wonderful idea,” she replied finally.  
Bellethiel turned and hurried back to the upper part of the city. Anne’s hand kept its place at the crook of her arm and her friend charged ahead despite Belle’s swift gate. Soon the tall human was ahead of her and tugged aggressively on the crook of her elbow. Auriel followed close behind with her hand resting steadfastly on the short sword strapped to her hip.

 

 


End file.
